


Percocet

by MystxMomo



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa: Another Episode, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Asphyxiation, Drug Use, Established Relationship, Honestly quite frankly a horrifying, Illustrated, Junko gets thought about a lot for someone thats dead, Kamukura Has Emotions He Just Gotta Unlock Them Like a Video Game Specialty Path, Leash and Collar, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, and inappropriate use of both over the counter and prescription drugs, breath play, unhealthy codependency
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:41:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23426413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MystxMomo/pseuds/MystxMomo
Summary: Kamukura gets sick, and Servant follows to help.It's his job, afterall.
Relationships: Kamukura Izuru/Komaeda Nagito
Comments: 27
Kudos: 245





	Percocet

**Author's Note:**

> Hi so I’ve had this one in my wip for months. Like, literal months. Not to horribly date this fic but the fact that I only just got the chance to finish it because I got virus sick leave is entirely coincidental I promise don’t laugh at me.
> 
> This is my smut fic where I just make up a bunch of shit about the remnants of despair, despair-pocolypse, and Kamukura and Komaeda’s relationship for like 20k+ words. None of it is canon compliant. Ultra despair girls who? Kamukura and Komaeda meeting on ship what? I apologize if you came in here hoping for canon adjacent content cause I just.. Make shit up as I go. They’ve known each other for years in this fic.
> 
> Three, it's despair era. Junko did shit. Yeah. I'll leave it at that.
> 
> Yes, I DID draw Kamukura's dick for this Fanfic. So like, maybe don't read it in public. I really don't wanna be the reason someone gets in trouble for looking at porn in a starbucks or whatever.
> 
> Finally, I wanna thank @AgentNein//ReAgentNein for editing, as always. Like, seriously just fucking doin' that the day after I sent them the link. They're one the real ones and you should give their content a look over when you get the chance.
> 
> Anyway, I'm excited to get this one out there and off my chest.

They're staying in a rundown hotel a mile out of the city.

Kamukura had insisted on it, despite the fact that they’d need to walk the distance, and the remnants main quarters was _closer_ , and the fact that he had a fever that showed bright on his face and weighed heavy on his shoulders.

"Signs of weakness will not be taken lightly," He'd mumbled, rubbing at pressure points as though they will tame the apparently hardy migraine he'd obtained with his fever, "Especially with me."

Servant doesn't get it, entirely. But he does not question it. Servant does not question a lot of things that involve Kamukura. It’s not his place to.

They’d ended up stopping near three times, only settling on the hotel because the rain rushes straight into downpour. 

“Sorry,” Servant had mumbled, working a strand of his hair through his fingers. Water and dirt drip off in tandem, running an ugly brown. Servant, for a moment, considers with distinct awareness how disgusting he is, has become, and always will be, “It’s just my luck, isn’t it? To get us caught up in this.”

Kamukura didn’t reply. Just gives him a half hearted, blank stare. For some reason, he’s panged with disapproval, and disappointment. 

To balance off his luck, the room they find is stable, and dry. Not a hole in the wall, nor a dust of debris. The rest of the building is in tatters, the half near the back torn apart, the doors ripped off their hinges near the front. The charred markings along the walls tell him it's possibly Souda’s doing. The spray paint graffiti and machinery parts that have been left to rot tell him it's _definitely_ Souda’s doing.

Kamukura manages to pick the lock to the room with ease, and Servant spends some time running about the building to make the room more comfortable. The comforters he finds are musty, and heavy. Down feather, he notes. He collects three before Kamukura has to stop him, reaching out to brush his good hand and mumble, “Enough, Komaeda.”

His touch is warm. 

(He selfishly wishes the warmth would linger just a while longer.)

He does the same for pillows, and Kamukura does not argue against the small pile he collects. Whether it’s out of sincere gratitude or a general disinterest in fighting him on it, Servant is unsure. Kamukura simply watches, as he has a tendency to do, from a chair in the corner of the room as he sorts himself clean. 

Servant can't help but find an odd comfort in the overwhelming uncertainty of Kamukura’s actions. 

There’s a pharmacy a few blocks down the road.

Servant knows this, because it was one of the few buildings they’d passed still standing in full. He’d only barely made note of it at the time, not willing to stop when they’d been in a race against nature itself. But it’s not far away, and Servant isn’t the one that needs to be getting rest.

Hm. Good luck, he decides. Were he able to find medicine, Kamukura would undoubtedly be pleased with him.

“You’re leaving,” Kamukura notes, and it’s not a question. However, he does seem curious. How he knows the difference between Servant preparing to travel the small distance, and Servant simply leaving to investigate more rooms is beyond him. Kamukura may as well be a mind reader.

“I’m going to be back,” Servant smiles. He always smiles, of course, but it doesn’t feel like he’s carving it out onto his face when he’s with Kamukura. It feels natural, infected and thriving through hope.

There’s a roar of thunder in the sky. Kamukura looks up to the ceiling, pointed, then down to him by the doorway. Servant’s smile remains.

“If that is what you choose to do,” Kamukura eventually says, shrugs, and goes back to drying his hair with a towel. Servant considers staying just long enough to help. Kamukura has enough hair that drying it all is time consuming. A bother. A bore. Generally if Servant does not help him, he will leave it to tangle and fall to its own will, untouched and uncared for. There's almost a chaotic beauty to the way it falls around his figure, when it goes unmanaged. Servant prefers it brushed, rather than chaotic. It’s longer, silkier like that. But Servant’s preferences don't quite matter, even if Kamukura happens to humor him every now and again.

And well. Servant just happens to enjoy helping maintain Kamukura’s hair.

He weighs it out. Concludes that medicine will be of more help then whatever selfish indulgence he gets from helping Kamukura directly, and that the rain will only get heavier if he waits. 

“Kamukura-kun,” he says, like a reassurance, “I _will_ be back.”

Kamukura's gaze lingers.

It’s not until he rolls over does Servant turn his back to him and quietly close the door behind him.

//

It doesn’t take him long to collect what he needs. He trusts his luck to guide him there, trusts his luck to keep him safe. He doesn’t know the names of most of the medications he grabs. Has some memorized, personalized, like a distant memory trapped in the back of his mind, but this is rather outside his area of expertise.

(He doesn’t take care of his medication these days. Takes whatever Kamukura gives him, really.) 

So he scoops what feels right into the first paper bag he can find and calls it a day, feeling particularly good about whatever might come. Afterall. Hope getting sick was a wonderful sign. Granted, Hope has always been sick. Tainted and abused at the hands of despair. However, Servant can’t help but think about how wondrous he’ll feel when he heals.

What he’ll do with the knowledge of blight. 

Servant hums and steps over an arm that’s been abandoned and lost to its owner.

Yes. Hope will certainly be for the better after all is said and done.

Kamukura has apparently stripped by the time he returns from the pharmacy.

He knows this, not because he can see him, but because he’s carefully hung most of his clothing off to the side to dry. Kamukura, on the other hand, has curled up as close to the wall as he can, making good use of the pillows Servant had collected for him. He looks sort of... Small like that. Curled up into a ball, with damp hair coiled about around him.

(The sight shouldn’t amuse him. It doesn’t amuse him. He would deny the smile on his face being _amused_ to the day he dies.) 

The only light in the room streams in from the door. One of the comforters he’d collected has carefully been hung above the thin motel curtain, apparently being a far more efficient option in blocking out the pollution of the rest of the world.

(Servant should have been the one to do it for him. He near scolds himself for being so careless, to leave without asking if he’d needed anything else. It, of course, occurs to him that Kamukura would have done it himself anyway. He still should have asked.)

He is not asleep. Servant knows this, because Kamukura still seems tense. Squared off shoulders, stilled chest. The posture of a man on full alert of the room around him. Kamukura is never relaxed when he’s awake, not really. An unfortunate side effect of having such distinct awareness on what goes on in the world around him.

He’s an incredibly light sleeper, because of this.

Kamukura has never really mentioned this to him, exactly, but Servant likes to think he’s occasionally observational as well. 

The only time Servant has ever seen him truly at ease is when he sleeps. Not dozes but sleeps, because Kamukura lets him stand guard when he sleeps. Other times, Kamukura allows him to sit closer and lull him to a deeper sleep, to cast a false sense of security between them for a few hours.

(He sometimes thinks about how easy it would be to take a knife to his chest while he sleeps. To pull out his gun and riddle him with bullets. Really, he wouldn’t need to use too many. Would only take one shot to the head. He could make a game of it, see how many times the gun refuses to go off until his luck wins.

He thinks about how much it would hurt, how easy it would be to take down such a powerful perpetrator of despair. 

He doesn’t. He wouldn’t. Never to Kamukura. But the idea haunts him, an impulse thought that just won’t go away.)

He’s not sure why Kamukura trusts him. He doesn’t even trust himself.

His suspicions are proven right by one sentence - 

"Komaeda, please close the door."

Servant shifts. The door shuts behind him. It’s only when the room is cloaked in darkness and the noise of the world outside is silenced once more does Kamukura pull himself up, a hand to his head and gaze lingering across the room.

Servant does not stare, nor make an attempt to. He would _never_ do that. He’s already seen Kamukura in various states of disrobe, first thing in the morning, as he’s preparing for bed in the evening. Servant has no need to stare, and yet he still has to fight his gaze down.

(Of course, there’s also the thought that no one else has seen Kamukura like this. Possibly. Probably. Kamukura doesn’t exactly, you know, get around to making friends, and Servant does not know what to do with that information. Chooses not to linger on it as a result, because he fears it might just overwhelm him if he does.)

His eyes, purposefully and respectfully, lower to the floor. If he does not, they will linger, and Servant has messed up enough today as it is.

Servant takes a moment to shed his coat and shoes, leaving them careful and proper by the door. They’ve taken the brute of the rain for him, though he still feels the slightest chill in the air of the room. 

"Here," Servant hushes, quiet, and holds out the small paper bag for Kamukura to take. 

"...?" Kamukura tilts his head, "This is..."

"Ibuprofen, Percocet, Zolpidem! Oh- Uh, and Nyquil? I wasn’t sure which was safe for you to take, so I just grabbed whichever I knew the name of. I don’t think _all_ of them are pain killers, but..." He hands over the bag. Kamukura takes it in time, because near immediately after his hand shoots up to his head, "Oh- I meant to grab triptan!”

(Kamukura winces at the sudden _loud_ noise, and Servant mumbles incoherent and apologetic. They both know his control over _that_ hand is far more volatile.)

Servant says nothing as Kamukura takes time to shift around the bag, allowing him to determine that, "...No. This is more than sufficient. You did well. Thank you,"

Servant takes a selfish, quiet moment to preen at the praise. Kamukura never seems to mind when he does, despite how obvious it must show on his figure. He’s really a bad influence, like that.

Kamukura pulls out the bottle of water he’d _also_ fetched, turning it over in his hands a few times. Clean water, a rarity and an offering.

"... Where did you find this?"

"Looted a pharmacy.” His answer is near immediate. “It’s lucky they had everything, isn’t it?”

“Mmm...” Kamukura’s response is half hearted, and if Servant is honest he’s not entirely sure why the man bothers at all. He always gives him something these days, though. He pops open the bottles one by one, plucking out pills and dropping them carelessly into a growing and, quite honestly, impressive pile on the small nightstand.

Servant realizes what his plan is maybe half way in, and-

Servant blinks, looks away. Looks back to him. Unsure if it is his place to voice displeasure, let alone disallowance, yet unable to avoid the strike of concern that rings through his head. Kamukura’s well being is his top priority, more so than his own, more so than his _position_. Though hesitant he might be, he eases out the words, “Kamkura-kun? Should you be... Is it safe for you to take those at the same time?” 

Kamukura’s reply is immediate, and unimpressed. “My brain is a 4 billion dollar science fair project that failed at the hands of two teenage girls. If they could not kill me, then mixing medications will _not_.”

… What? 

“Ah haha... _What_?”

Kamukura squints at him, like he’s trying to figure out why what he just said was weird.

“I will be fine,” he eventually determines, and takes a swing from the Nyquil bottle directly.

Servant is, rightfully, appalled, “ _Kamukura-kun_ -” 

Kamukura squints at him. He knows the man can’t _feel_ annoyance. But in that exact moment he might as well. “Keep your voice down, otherwise I will have you leave.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Servant hushes himself immediately, though the gut feeling remains. He tries not to linger on it. He’d done what he could.

Kamukura holds out the water to him, offers it in his free hand, and Servant is honored but it’s not something he deserves. Servant only offers him a smile at the offer, shakes his head. Kamukura doesn’t play along. 

“Drink.” It’s a heavy order, weighed down only by intent. He struggles, truly struggles to imagine Kamukura raising his voice. It’s something he finds comfort in. _She_ had always been so _loud_ , had never hesitated to snap orders into his ear (Had also, however, been so loose with her purrs of praises, and the soft touches to his cheek, poisoned though they might have been. He hadn’t had to work for her attention. Hadn’t had to gain anything. She fed, and fed, and she had been easy to indulge in. 

Despair was truly easy to indulge in.)

Of course, it was unfair to Kamukura to compare him to _her_ nowadays, but he needs to remind himself of how much better he has it. How much better they’re both doing, now that she’s gone, that she’ll never return.

As much as it displeases him, Servant doesn’t hesitate against the demand. An order’s an order, and water is water. He does, however, attempt to skirt around the edges. He takes a small enough gulp to satisfy Kamukura’s order, then... another because his body registers that this is the first time he’s had water in quite a while. Then a third, because he notices Kamukura watching on in still, approving silence.

Servant is not sheepish when he hands the water bottle back over to him only half filled. Kamukura is pleased with him. He has no reason to be, despite his own thoughtless claim on a resource for all intent and purposes meant for Kamukura. He’s been good. Listened. Kamukura nods, confirms this. Traces the rim of the water bottle with his thumb. Once again counts through his pill collection, piecing them out with his fingers. And then, against what Servant can only hope is both of their better judgements, he takes them with a single swing of water.

The silence is comforting. It always is around Kamukura.

Kamukura doesn’t finish the water, which is fine. Instead, it gets pushed off to the side, just a little ways out of reach.

“You do not have to stand,” Kamukura tells him, like he already knows what Servant plans on doing for the night.

The idea of sitting sounds lovely. He has been on his feet all day. Since before Kamukura woke up this morning, before they’d had to make their way somewhere further. 

“Ah, well...”

“We will be here for a while. You have no need to stand. Sit.” This time it’s a direct order.

He quickly works through his priorities. If something were to happen, standing would be better. He could be faster to act. Faster to respond. If he were to sit, he could just as easily fall asleep. He _was_ horribly exhausted, afterall, and even he only had so much control over his body before it came crumbling down around him.

Eventually, he settles for quietly lowering himself to his knees. Lower than Kamukura, but still obeying his command. 

This seems to please him, for the time. The man slowly, quietly, lays his head back down. Draws the covers up to his shoulder.

Servant likes to think he's a patient man. The best laid plans are those that take time, has learned how to occupy his mind for hours of silence on ends. One of the smaller things he does not take for granted is how the silence full, around Kamukura. He's been in true silence, silence that overwhelms and takes prisoner. Locked alone with his thoughts for hours on end, where the only sounds were those he could make and the echos of the back of his mind. She's loved seeing him come out of that, bleary and dazed, but pliant and manageable.

For Kamukura's breathing, he's grateful. Heavier tonight with illness, and he can't help but cling to it, and loose himself in it with greed. Like the selfish, unappreciative refuse he is

The rain is simply a bonus, to it all.

//

He is unsure how long it takes for oddity to occur. It was certainly an hour. At least two. Long enough that he's begun to feel the stages of exhaustion begin to weigh on him, has sunken from his knee's to a crossleg.

Kamukura does not go out of his way to engage. Not normally. It's troublesome for him, drains him. Unless it's something the others think Servant should not know (but generally, information falls into his lap anyway.) Servant is the one that takes care of communicating with the others. That pisses them off, and he’s well aware of that. But their orders are under Kamukura's in the hierarchy of sway, and he’d rather Kamukura not have to trouble himself.

He likes to think that if he could feel, Kamukura would be grateful to him.

Even when they speak, Servant sees the way thoughts tick away in his mind. Like he’s mapping out, predicting how the conversation will go before it happens, figuring out which path would be most effective to take. There was a time when replies between them sometimes took minutes, and Servant was left sitting. Waiting. 

Still. Servant is not entirely surprised when what draws him out of the hypnotizing lull of the ambience is Kamukura’s call. Because it’s different now. Because sometimes Kamukura goes out of his way to engage with _him_ . Because talking to him, and only him, is far _less_ troublesome.

It is not a point of arrogance, that Servant thinks that. It’s acknowledgement. Easy and acceptable.

"Komaeda," Kamukura doesn’t take Servant's silence as dissuasion. He knows the difference between his moody silences and his patient ones, when's he's provoking and when he's simply waiting, "I have... a question. A curiosity. If you’re willing to engage me."

What he wants to do is point out that Kamukura should be asleep, or that Servant would rather throw himself off a roof then willingly choose to ignore Kamukura. Well- There are a lot of reasons Servant wants to throw himself off a roof.

What he does instead is offer a gentle, controlled, "... Okay?"

Kamukura doesn’t stall long. He’s not looking in Servant’s direction like he normally does, not tracking him or paying attention to his presence. He’s taken to studying the damaged popcorn ceiling instead, looks almost dead with how still he’s fallen.

Servant knows this, of course, because he does happen to be looking at Kamukura.

"... Why do you stay with me,” Kamukura asks. The question confuses him. He wait's for Kamukura to continue, because truly he must.

He does not joke. He does not continue. 

Uh, “Why _wouldn’t_ I stay with you?”

“That is... a nonanswer.”

Servant near furrows his eyebrows. He manages, last second, to save face in front of Kamukura. After all, if Kamukura doesn’t believe it to be an appropriate answer, then it must not be one. But to him it felt perfectly reasonable. Servant would always follow hope. Kamukura was hope wrapped in a human body. For all he detached and withdrew, for as indifferent and frigid he could be, it only served to prove to Servant that they had created a human hope. Hope had never been kind. Not to him, and not to the world. Hope was a reaper that came to lay claim to the death and rot despair brought and strangled, shining and sympathetic and light. 

It made sense, that hope would come to him so cold. 

But Servant saw through it. Because for all the chasing and longing hope took, it always gave back. It always ended in warmth, and reward, in a light so blinding and pure that the battle was worth fighting.

Kamukura always gave back, after all. 

He can’t bring himself to actively deny Kamukura. He can never deny hope. So instead he stares off into space. Tries to think of a way to defend his point. 

"Where else would I _need_ to go?" He tries again, harder. He’s unsure if he has it in him to admit that this might be a want out loud. What he _wants_ should not matter. What he _needs_ to do is follow Kamukura.

Kamukura doesn’t answer. 

“If... I was not ultimate hope, would you still follow me?” he asks instead. Like it’s even a question.

This was, admittedly, already beginning to get a little frustrating. 

“But you _are_ hope?”

“If I was not, though.”

He can’t help the huff that escapes him. Knows he should not, but still ends up allowing it to escape him despite this. 

“It’s not like that, Kamukura-kun. No matter what your existence is, it is one of hope! Of unimaginable splendor. I cannot foresee any theoretic in which you aren’t… _Hope_.”

He’s getting worked up. He knows he is, because he has to grab the sleeve of his sweater to stop the immediate tremor that rakes through his body, and can feel the cold sweat breaking out on his skin. Kamukura was supposed to be smart. Why he couldn’t grasp this, wouldn’t accept it as an answer was beyond him. He would always be hope, just as She would always be despair. How She lingered after Her death was proof enough of it.

Like Kamukura can read his mind, like he knows exactly what he’s thinking, he changes the subject. Servant can feel his gaze on him as he does, like he’s actually interested in whatever his reply might be. 

"The era of her despair is ending," Kamukura mumbles, because it is something he has to point out. Because as it stands, it feels like it’s gone on for ages, "Though Ultimate Despair fights it, the end is coming. You... do not have to engage with them. There are places outside their reach you could wait through. It does not have to be with me.”

His brows furrow. 

“I... _can’t_. You know that, Kamukura-kun.” There are a lot of reasons for that. A lack of belonging, anywhere really. The careful lull of despair that rests inside of him, tempting and taunting him at every second. The fact that he needed to be the one to guide it, to bring it to fruition. It was his duty to see hope fall into place, to nurture it to completion.

"... I am giving you permission to, Komaeda.”

“It is not a matter of permission!” He’s almost offended at the idea of it. “It is a matter of practicality. Of purpose! My purpose is whatever hope deems it to be.” The idea that he would turn heel and run in the face of despair was laughable. Kamukura should know better.

Kamukura _did_ know better. 

What was he _doing_?

“Are you not cold?” 

“Uh. Huh?”

What kind of topic change was that? 

It is... Admittedly, only around this time that Servant remembers that Kamukura is not entirely sober, at the moment. It was easy to forget, considering that he didn’t sound any less sure of himself. Certainly hadn’t been speaking as such. But a few pieces fall into place, click together like a puzzle that’s presented itself to him.

Ah, he thinks. So that’s what it was. 

“You went out in the rain.” His voice is a mumble, near lost under the sound of the rain pelting against the glass, “You will get sick too, will you not? Your health is already abysmal enough as it stands. How will you... Serve me. Serve hope. If you are ill?”

“I trust my luck,” as is always his answer.

They’re quiet.

Servant thinks that might just be the end of it, that finally Kamukura will be satisfied enough to roll back over and sleep. It certainly seems like a conversation ender. It’s always hard to tell, with Kamukura.

Instead, the order he gets is a simple "Come here."

Servant hesitates. Waits, as though it will change the order he was just given. It will not.

Kamukura has raised just enough to peer down to him, watching with expectation. [Maybe more.]

He joins Kamukura, silently, on the bed. At first sitting with his hand folded into her’s on his lap, polite and proper. And then Kamukura grabs his chin and turns it as he pleases. Servant eases into the touch, allows his head to tilt and follow the motion.

There’s something missing from Kamukura’s gaze.

He looks dazed. When Servant thinks of Kamukura, he does not think of dazed. He thinks of analytical hidden against indifference, of vacancy anchored in apathy. He thinks of ice and steel, and of stability and security.

He thinks of detachment. Kamukura works on a plane entirely separate from their own. Servant cannot read Kamukura. Servant has tried to read Kamukura many times before, to get into his head and truly come to understand him. Even to this day, he does not. He’s accepted this only as much as he _has_ to. 

But now, here, he looks _dazed_. Tired.

Servant is... Unused, to feeling bigger than Kamukura. He’s immediately uncomfortable. 

“... Cold,” Kamukura’s voice grounds him as easily as his gaze takes him, the thumb on his cheek weighs like stone as much his presence allows him to stay afloat. “I was correct.”

“I am always cold Kamukura-kun.”

“That is not incorrect but…” Kamukura sighs, “Colder than normal. You will get sick at this rate.”

Kamukura’s hand slides away from him. The warmth lingers behind like a slap, and Servant wants so badly to grab his hand and hold it there. 

He wants it burnt into his skin.

Servant stares, uncertain but shameless. 

"If I may ask..." He starts. Pauses. He doesn’t always wait for verbal permission, not anymore at least. But with heavier questions, with information he knows he’s prying instead of skimming through, it’s always seemed more polite, correct, to wait for permission.

"You may.”

"Why do you keep me around?"

This is not the first time he’s asked this question. Despite the fact that he’d been the one to practically beg Kamukura to keep him, at first, it still amazed him that he bothered. 

And then there’d been a change. Like a silent switch. He'd just come in one day, been ordered to follow. And he'd kept him around since.

 _"Your loyalty is a virtue, to a fault,"_ Is what Kamukura normally says, explains further with, _"None of the other remnants can be trusted to do a job correctly, let alone with their alliances. However yours... Shows clear on your face.”_

He’d preened at the time. Effective to a fault. Servant was okay with that. Servant was a being made entirely of flaws, and if those flaws were a benefit to Kamukura then who was he to complain or argue? 

But with time, the answer had become insufficient. Had lost its value. He couldn’t tell Kamukura that, but something rolled around in his gut. Like there was something he was missing, hidden under slowly deteriorating layers.

Kamukura stays silent, now. His expression passes too fast for Servant to fully grasp but Servant doesn’t like what part of it he does happen to catch.

“Why do you go through the trouble for me?” Servant asks, dipping his hand down to lace his fingers into hers. A false comfort. The hand is just as cold and dead as it’s always been. Feels like holding a dolls hand, where it bends carefully to his own. He’s always taken good care of it. Doesn’t want to break any of the bones, snap the hand on accident. But comfort, no matter how false, is still comfort. 

“Surely you must get bored of it. Surely, it must be troublesome to concern yourself with me. I do not mean to be- _ostentatious_ , but I…”

Kamukura tilts his head. Considers it. Were he not handling such a delicate topic, Servant might take more amusement in the fact that Kaukura looks sort of owlish like this.

“You are not... Incorrect. You can be bothersome to care for at times.” Kamukura had always been blunt. He sounds entirely unimpressed by his own words, “Your health has a tendency to deteriorate suddenly and rapidly, you are impulsive and obsessive, and dealing with the repercussions of your actions borders on tedious at the best of times.”

Kamukura might as well have taken his lungs away from him, with how suddenly he’s stopped breathing. He continues on despite this, “Is it not enough to say that it’s simply worth the effort of maintenance?”

It was not. The answer claws at the inside of his stomach, cutting into his skin from within. It’s not enough to satiate the stirring curiosity, not enough to stop uncertainty from looming over him. But he has to accept it for what it is. If that is all Kamukura wishes to give him, then it is what he must accept. He couldn’t dig for more, not immediately after getting an answer.

His grip on her hand tightens.

“... May I ask something else, perhaps?”

Kamukura doesn’t give him a verbal reply. However his head tilts down. For Kamukura, enough a sign of interest to proceed.

“What... exactly are you going to do after, Kamukura?”

Kamukura’s eyes unfocus. Focus. Unfocus again. It’s almost fascinating to watch, like he’s fighting a battle he’s doomed to lose against himself. Komaeda thinks he might be trying to find an appropriate answer, but the next word from his mouth is an uncertain, “After…?” Which is exciting! He rarely has to clarify himself to Kamukura. 

“When despair decays and hope finally flourishes!” Servant practically lightens up himself at the thought, “Surely you must have something in mind? If it’s as close as you say it is to turning over, then you must have planned ahead?”

“Ah. Of course,” Kamukura rubs at his head, along a scar Servant cannot see but knows that exists. It’s old enough now that it should not itch, should only be an echo of its existence. Kamukura seems hyper-aware of its existence despite this, and Servant has never bothered to ask how.

Kamukura doesn’t answer his question, “... What will you do, Komaeda?”

“I’ll probably stay with Kamukura-kun.” It’s another answer he feels should go without saying, and falls so freely off his tongue. It’s not as though he has it prepared. He simply finds the answer as soon as he needs it. 

“My job throughout life has been to serve hope. Now I am here, and it is wonderous. Why would I want to leave? Because the tides turn?” He feels excitement bubble to the surface, “It would be far greater to serve you in a time of prosperity. I do not mind serving you now, of course! But imagine what it will be like in the future. When Her influence has corrupted itself beyond recognition. It will be…” He’s breathing heavily. At some point, he’d started to grip his sleeve hard enough that his knuckles have paled more so than normal, and the look Kamukura is giving him tells him he’s raised his voice far more than tolerable. 

He catches his breath, slow and calculated. Counts to ten before continuing, and makes sure to lower his voice.

“It will become something beautiful then, Kamukura-kun. If you would allow me to, of course. Our relationship could truly become something consecrated. Something immeasurable,” He can’t bring himself to raise his head, knows he’s being awfully presumptuous with his thoughts. He’s certainly no Kamukura. He can’t predict what will come. He knows, however, what a hopeful future would look like. Knows what his reward for survival and servitude will be. That is something he would cling to, shameless and without hesitation, “I understand if you wouldn’t-” 

“... I never said hope would win.”

“.. Huh?” Servant tilts his head.

“What if despair were to win?” Kamukura asks, narrows his eyes as though he’s actually suspicious of him, “What will you do if despair wins? I have not told you which side will take, afterall. It is possible.”

“Huh, huh, huh?” Servant Waits. Blinks away the confusion, “Oh. Of course it won’t!”

“If it does.”

Ah! A rhetoric. Kamukura did have a tendency to those. 

“Well the only way despair could _truly_ win is by taking out Kamukura-kun... And I would be without purpose, without Kamukura-kun. So… I suppose I would simply die.” That sounds right, at least.

Kamukura watches him like he’s decrypting a code, taking each of his words and running them through a cypher. Like he needs a moment to find meaning in them. He’s unsure as to why. Servant has always worn his heart on his sleeve. 

“... That is what you truly believe?”

“You know that already. So long as Kamukura-kun is alive, then there’s a chance hope could win!” Servant points out, “But a world without him... A world in unimaginable despair. Doesn’t that sound horrible? Boring? Would that even be a world worth attempting to save? I don’t think so. A world truly devoid of hope is- Oh!”

Kamukura has reached out to cling to him.

His immediate and first thought is, of course, Kamukura is touching him. Kamukura is more than just touching him, Kamukura has wrapped his arms around him and clung to him, loosely hooked around his waist. His next thought is the realization that he hasn’t had this in a while. That the instinctive response has long since been bred out of him, leaving him frozen and uncertain in his arms. And it would be fine if it was momentary. Would be fine if it were passing.

But then Kamukura doesn’t pull away. Kamukura lets him curl up against him only sometimes. And it’s not that, you know, Servant doesn’t feel... _Honored_ to be in that position with Kamukura. It’s just that, normally curling up against Kamukura is sort of like curling up with a rock. He’s always so tense. He’s warm, but in the sort of way lying too close to the heater is. That if he lingers too long, eventually he’ll burn.

And it’s not that Servant minds. He’d never mind, it’s just how Kamukura _was_. Rigid as he may be, he still found hope and comfort in any touch the man gave him. Kamukura had always struggled with that, and that was okay. 

Right now feels different, though. It feels wrong. He hadn’t realized it from a distance, but now that he was next to him it was unavoidable. His breathing is heavy, skin is heated, and entire body lays limp in his arms. 

Servant realizes he’s never seen Kamukura so human before. And suddenly, so suddenly, he understands why they’re not staying with the other remnants.

He struggles for a moment, trying to think of what the appropriate way to respond to this would be. It’s easier when he’s not reciprocating. When there’s no expectation for him to return anything, and he doesn’t expect Kamukura to give anything. 

Afterall. They weren’t lovers. Not in the traditional sense. Each and every one of their touches are calculated, a game of give and take between the two of them. Servant performs his job well, Kamukura rewards him. Kamukura concerns himself with Servant’s safety, Servant makes it up to him. Their relationship is a balancing act in which intimacy is little more than currency, weighed carefully against one another on a scale of actions and inaction. 

In a way, it’s how Servant prefers it. Lovers imply equality. He was not, and would never be equal to Kamukura. He could fool himself like this, when he gets to lay with him so easily. When he gets to touch him so freely. However, that deception was a dangerous one. Like placing a blanket over your entire body on a cold day. It starts warm, and perfect. But then the wool starts to scratch at your skin, and the heat begins to suffocate you, and at the end of it all, relief only lies in the cold chill of the very thing you were hiding from.

He’d never be equal to Kamukura. It didn’t matter what Kamukura called him, what he believed. Servitude was all he was good for, all he’d ever been used for, trained for. Nothing else in life mattered so long as he knew his place.

He should know his place.

“Kamukura-kun,” he tells him, “It would be more comfortable for you if you, uh… allowed me to join you entirely.”

It feels wrong to suggest, but proper to do. Surely, he reasons, Kamukura’s comfort comes before his greed. It’s not as though it’s the first time they’ve shared a bed. Really, he thinks the only time he sleeps in beds these days is when he’s with Kamukura. And it’s not as though they aren’t safe. Not as though it’s wrong of him to join him.

“.......” Kamukura pulls back from him, his hair falling in clumps in front of his face. His expression is hard to read, as always, but his figure is lax. Like he’s truly something worn. 

“Join me for the night…” he says, like it’s a musing. It’s entirely unfocused and distant, pensive and engrossed. Then he snaps back to, eyes wide and clear. Realization clear in his eyes, though for what he is unsure. 

“Join me for the night,” he says, firmer this time. 

Servant doesn’t get the chance to ask. 

Kamukura kisses him, like it’s the easiest thing he’s done in weeks.

It’s rare for Kamukura to initiate unprompted. 

Servant has to work for Kamukura’s affection and attention. Enjoys earning it, really. There’s something about knowing that what he’s receiving is a result of his own work. That his actions are what gained Kamukura’s attention.

Still… There is a certain euphoria that comes with having Kamukura kiss him unprompted. That, for a moment, he can pretend the other yearns and craves him with the same ferocity Servant feels. It’s a laughable concept. Servant suspects the only thing Kamukura would feel about him, if he could, is disgust.

It takes Servant a moment to respond. It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy being kissed by Kamukura. It’s just, overwhelming. Sudden, especially for him. His head swims with an immediate and inordinate ecstasy, his entire form stilling with the touch of their lips. 

Servant is nothing if not adaptable. He comes back to himself, ignited anew. He scrambles to throw himself further into the kiss, presses them both further back onto the bed with the motion.

Kamukura never starts rough. He imagines kissing Kamukura is what it’s like to kiss a warm marionette. He’s so... Still. At least at the start. He follows whatever motions Servant has decided to push into. Servant presses closer, Kamukura steadies him. Servant rests a hand on his shoulder, Kamukura follows with a hand on his hip. For someone that gets bored so easily, hates predictability as much as he does, the puzzle pieces always fall easily into place between the two of them.

As a result, it’s always Servant that takes it a step too far. Tries to follow along with the rhythm Kamukura sets, only to get over eager, fall out of line, get too rough and put too much into it. It’s only after Servant crosses that line, presses too hard into it, bites his lip, claws at his hip with his good hand, does he feel Kamukura give a sharp breath against his lips. So close to a sigh, like Kamukura is disappointed that Servant has once again acted so _predictable_ and _desperate_. That never changes the results. 

Kamukura is too patient with him, sometimes.

Kamukuras hand hooks around, rests his hand to his hip and pulls him onto his knee. The movement is mechanical, and practiced. A position they’ve both been in before, and find themselves falling easily into again. Servant still somehow manages to lose balance, nearly topple over onto him with the motion.

(If Servant has any regrets about her hand, it’s that it makes _this_ a little harder to manage. He can’t balance on her arm. It is, for all intent and purposes, dead weight to him. A burden he, like all other ultimate despair, must carry in memory of her. He didn’t need to take such a big weight. Hadn’t needed to mutilate himself further for her. That hadn’t stopped it from feeling right at the time, from the uncomfortable mix of resentment and exaltation he feels looking down at his arm to this day.)

Kamukura adjusts him with ease, doesn’t make him squirm to balance himself. He almost wishes Kamukura had. He enjoys being under Kamukura’s scrutinizing gaze, enjoys being pushed to the ground and made to work his way back up. Enjoys proving himself. He supposed, tonight specifically it might have become more an inconvenience then a trial. He doesn’t blame Kamukura for not tolerating it tonight. 

Servant doesn’t even get the chance to place his good hand properly, to catch his breath really, before Kamukura is kissing him again. It’s intoxicating. The longer he kisses him, the higher he becomes, lost in a sea of veneration. 

Kamukura has to be the one to pull back to let Servant breathe, because otherwise he’d suffocate himself into that kiss and they both know it. (He has, in face, done just that before. Twice.) Kamukura’s hand comes to rest on his cheek, touch feather light, and Servant stills under his fingertips. He practically counts seconds by in his head as he waits for Kamukura to release him, hyper aware of his own breathing. Of how wide his eyes must be.

Kamukura’s thumb brushing across his sore lips is what breaks the silence, the man’s head tilting with tangential intrigue. 

“... Still dry,” he mumbles, like he’s noting it to himself. Servant is... Unsure why this is what has interrupted their kiss, or why Kamukura seem’s so displeased by this point. He can only accept the comment for what it is with a small,

“Okay?” 

Kamukura’s hand lowers. Gaze flickers from his lips to his eyes. He doesn’t explain the thought, or offer anything more to it. He rarely does, prefers to leave Servant wondering about where his concerns may lie.

Instead of thinking about it for too long, Servant takes the fact that his hand has moved as permission. He dives back in for another kiss. Has been given allowance to indulge, if only for this. Servant doesn’t think he’s hedonistic by any stretch of the word, but being in Kamukura’s grasp certainly makes him feel like it. It’s easy to lose himself in this, to forget what his place is. The only comfort he gets is the knowledge that Kamukura wants this, and wants _him_ . That the Ultimate Hope finds pleasure in his immodesty. Kamukura finds joy in so little, being even a source of _amusement_ was enough for him, let alone pleasure.

Servant has steadied himself enough to get away with focusing his attention elsewhere. At first, allowing his hand to linger, just barely graze the other's sides and chest. Being fully clothed while Kamukura is not feels _wrong_ , like he’s breaking a rule that neither of them have set in place. That does not stop him from giving a horrifying display of self-indulgence. From letting his fingers trace a line along the others stomach, falling low, between Kamukura’s legs. Test the waters and brushing inquisitively. 

Only half-hard. It made sense. Kamukura has never been easy to rile up, especially not compared to Servant. Kamukura could speak the right way, look him over with the right gaze, and Servant would instantly be at his feet and drooling. The fact that Kamukura is already as worked up as he was is what’s unexpected here. Not enough to throw him off, nor stall his motions. Just enough that he finds bemusement in it. He takes it as encouragement, does not bother to hide how enthusiastically he palms at him.

Servant could stay like this endlessly, giving himself up to the feeling of Kamukura’s lips on his own. Could do wonders working Kamukura like this. He could get off to this, untouched and ignored save for the pleasure of bringing Kamukura over the edge, and the idea that Kamukura favored him enough to indulge in him. 

Kamukura pulls back from their kiss again, and Servant moves to follow. Unrestrained and greedy. Kamukura stops him with a pull of his leash (when he’d gotten his hand around it, he is unsure) and a bounce of his leg, dragging Servant back into quick and easy obedience.

“Sorry,” is his immediate and quiet whisper, hands lowering to rest on his chest. “I’ve misbehaved?” He asks it as a question, but he’s not clueless. Not about his own behavior, and where he teeters on the line of allowance and disobedience. 

Kamukura’s lips latch onto his neck in place of an answer. It certainly feels more like a reward than a punishment, and earns a near immediate whine. He doesn’t make an attempt to muffle his noises. Kamukura has ordered him not to more than enough times that it’s simply become ingrained to keep his hands low and lips apart. It’s still embarrassing. He’s not unaware of how ugly the sounds he makes are, how loud he can get. He wishes that Kamukura would at least allow him the dignity of pressing his face into a pillow, or pushing his fingers into his mouth to hide the sickening gasps and yelps that come with each bruise Kamukura sucks into his skin. 

Not that he’d ever protest. If embarrassment is the price he must pay to be marked by Kamukura, then it is one he will pay with glee. It’s nothing compared to the bliss of being owned by him, to have his teeth branded into his skin. It’s all but a point of pride for him.

Servant thanks him by entangling his good hand into his hair. To grab a handful, and grip, because he needs something to hang onto in order to behave himself, and the sheets weren’t cutting it. He allows his fingers to curl into the strands, takes pleasure in the knowledge that this is something only he’s allowed to get away with doing despite-

Kamukura jolts, pulls back to gaze at him with a gaze filled with intrigue.

"Ah," he says, and Servant swears his tone might as well be flourishing with how alight it is. "That's new."

“I’ve surprised you?” He's pleased by the idea of it. Surprising Kamukura. Kamukura wanted nothing more in life than to be caught off guard and unaware. If he gave him that, then Servant could conclude with certainty that he deserves whatever reward and praise he would get that night.

Kamukura doesn’t answer his question. Instead, he dives back in to suck another mark onto his neck, and the yank Servant gives in turn is unintentional and automatic. As are the yelps, and the way his toes curl into the comforter pile that has long since been abandoned at the base of the bed. The bite is careless, without foresight or judgement. 

“K-Kamukura-kun?”

“Mm.” He feels air hit his skin as the man breaths out, shivers as his breath hits still raw flesh. “Pulling...” He mumbles, moves his lips to a fresh, unmarred piece of his neck.

“Then it’s- Good?” Servant asks. What he means is, _I’ve done good?_ They both know his true intent. He’d be lying too much, to himself and Kamukura, to deny it. But placing those words together in a sentence might break him. He can barely get out his first statement, is grateful for the knowledge that Kamukura knows his words well enough that he does not need to. Kamukura, once again, doesn’t answer immediately. Takes the time to sink harsher and faster bites against his neck. He’s normally more careful, doesn’t leave them where they’ll be noticed at a first glance. That does not seem to be the case tonight. 

Every bite earns another yelp, another pull. And Servant, self-serving as he is, takes unabashed glee in the knowledge that the others will know, second to the knowledge that Kamukura is finding something akin to pleasure in his actions.

Kamukura pulls back, out of breath. Servant can hear it, feel the man's eyes study him. 

“Yes,” he eventually determines. “It is... Very good.”

Servant could sob at the praise. He doesn’t. Instead, he shifts against Kamukura’s leg, grinding down with enough force to get the other's attention. Because unlike Kamukura, he is easy. He is _too_ easy. He’s never able to keep himself in line, never able to hold back once Kamukura has given him the barest hint of attention. 

“Should I earn it?” Servant asks, trying not to sound too eager. Kamukura opens his mouth to say something. Curiosity, halts. Stares long enough that his heavy breathing evens out to something easier, and the buzz of an indecent high worsens. He doesn’t think the man ever intends on teasing, but sometimes sleeping with him feels like a giant game of denial play. 

“If that is what you wish,” is what he eventually says. A positive was practically an assurance. That doesn’t stop the flash of warmth from taking him.

Servant allows himself to be pulled down without much force. Kamukura is almost too gentle like this. He’s never been harsh. Not unprompted, not purposelessly so. She’d found pleasure in freely yanking him around by the leash, asserting her authority and control over him. Kamukura had never acted with the same amount of dominance. Had simply expected him to follow an order, and would leave him behind if he did not. 

He’s unsure of which he prefers, even thinking back on it. She’d treated him like he wanted to be treated, given him everything he’d asked for and more. Kamukura wouldn’t even forget his name. But there was just as much pleasure, if not more, in simply being trusted to follow orders. That Kamukura didn’t feel as though he had to pull him around to get what he wanted out of Servant. He knew he would do anything for him, knew he wouldn’t hesitate to risk his life for him. Wouldn’t hesitate to kill for him. He’d attempted to kill her multiple times, and though the thought crossed his mind, he’d never make an attempt on Kamukura’s life.

She’d never trusted him on an order. Had never tested his loyalty. She’d taken it, forceful, and enjoyed every moment of it.

Servant gazes up to Kamukura. His grip on the leash has loosened, but Servant makes no attempt to pull back from him. He knows a silent order, has gotten good at picking up on them over the years. Kamukura’s silent orders are his easiest to follow. When he speaks, especially around others, Servant needs to read between the lines. Needs to figure out where Kamukura’s loophole has been placed, what he actually wants out of an order. But gestures and looks were easy to follow. Easy to complete.

Servant lowers his gaze.

Kamukura doesn’t have a preference for what he wears. Servant has, in fact, bothered to ask about this before. He finds it important, in the same way he finds knowing Kamukura’s schedule, his bias, important. He needs to know these things to properly serve and follow. Kamukura sticks to suits because it’s proper. A familiarity. Something he’s always known. He might also just have an appreciation for the aesthetic of it, though he’s never said so out loud.

His boxers tend to follow the same pattern. They’re always some floral pattern. Not because he likes flowers, but because it’s just what he’s used to. What he has access to. He doesn’t dislike them either, he just has no preference. He admires it like he hadn’t known what Kamukura had on already, like he doesn’t expect there to be a telltale swell within reach.

Today’s are blue, with white petals. They look old and worn in, a stark juxtaposition to the clean cut suits he favors. He makes a mental note to scavenge for new clothing later, and then prioritizes his attention elsewhere. He takes a moment to stroke him through the cloth, touches feather light and following the echo of his cock. Touches him as though he’s handling something delicate. 

He... tries to imagine Kamukura as something fragile. Just momentarily. It’s not as funny of a thought, when he lingers on it for too long. Sort of curls in his chest like something sour. Something he can’t entirely digest.

He instead focuses his attention on mouthing the head of his cock through the fabric of his boxers, fingers grazing along the length just under his lips.

He knows better than to spend too long on this part, knows not to linger on it. It’s just that he can’t help but indulge in the anticipation. Can’t help but let the knowledge of what’s to come fuel some crude, impious desire rooted deep inside of him. Kamukura, he knows, can respect that. Allows him to go through the motions, so long as it doesn’t test the length of his patience. It helps that he’s learned how to pleasure him as he takes his fill. Has learned how to admire as he serves.

He doesn’t need too long tonight. Feeling a twitch under his touch is the only sign he needs to proceed.

His good fingers hook the waistband of his boxers, dragging them down in one easy swipe. He feels Kamukura shift to help him, all too happy to take the moment of friction he receives to help him.

Servant practically drools at the sight. As if this is his first time in this position, the first time being so privileged. It might as well be. A small part of him always expects this to be the last time they lay together, whether it be due to the powers that be, or Kamukura’s tendency to find boredom in presupposition. He’s always proven wrong on both. That doesn’t stop him from soaking in the moments he gets with him.

The giddiness that normally comes with touching Kamukura’s cock is shattered by the realization that he’s now fully nude under Servant’s touch. Servant has yet to even take off his jacket. The chill of the room weighs heavy on him, both in part to how overwhelming this knowledge is, and how damp his clothing sits on his skin. Perhaps Kamukura had been right, as he tends to be. Perhaps he should have stripped before coming into bed with him, should have shed his clothing to the floor so that they would have at least been equal in their display. 

“Komaeda.” Kamukura stops him before he gets the chance to get too lost in his own thoughts, and he is grateful for it. Servant’s fingers entangle around his cock. Motions start off slow and easy. He knows better than to taunt Kamukura, but there’s always something fulfilling about working his way up to something greater and grander. So he starts small. Admires Kamukura from his position, so much as he can in the dark, and rests his cheek against his thigh. 

Kamukura has a tendency to watch him work. He’s unsure as to why he’d want to, or why he does. But he watches with that steady, all consuming look. Let’s red eyes study him, expressionless and blank. It’s quick to crawl under Servant’s skin. Gets right to him in thick, heated waves, and turns in his gut to fuel his zeal. Servant knows when he’s being studied, when Kamukura is taking in every tangible detail he provides.

Sometimes it’s too much. Sometimes, often, he needs to rip his gaze away from Kamukra’s, to squeeze his eyes shut and place his focus in his work. Otherwise, he’ll stall, and lose himself in it. Even when he can pull his focus, he still feels it. Kamukura’s gaze is something intense on a normal day, weighs on his shoulder and burns into his flesh. But when they’re together, like this? It’s stimulating.

Kamukura is also silent on principle. Has what seems to be exact control over his body and reactions. Anytime Servant can sneak a sound out of him, he revels in it. Takes every moan as affirmation and every gasp as reward. He gives Kamukura adornment in the form of his lips and touch, and knows his prayers are answered in the form of vocalization and return. 

It takes one sigh for Servant to kiss the tip of his length. A payment of a shiver for him to part his lips entirely.

He could spend hours fondling and lapping up the length of his cock, soaking and searching for the smaller responses Kamukura gifts him with. He’s picked up on some inevitabilities. How Kamukura never opens his mouth. All of his sounds are throaty, and quiet. Gentle hums and groans that find a way to both comfort and arouse. He tilts his head down instead of back when he likes something, looks away when it’s beginning to get on his nerves. When Servant has lost his interest. He rarely closes his eyes entirely when Servant is working him, more often preferring to watch through them half lidded.

There are times where Kamukura is hard to read. But when it comes to this, Servant always seems to know what to expect. 

He’s never as shameful as he should be getting pleasure from this. Sometimes, just taking him is enough. Tonight, that doesn’t seem to be the case. He finds his hips moving without forethought behind it, grinding about the other's leg with slowly increasing ferocity. He’d feel worse about it if he wasn’t earning it. If this wasn’t part of the show, for Kamukura. He’s not prideful, and certainly not boastful. But if Kamukura’s reactions are anything to go by, then he can at least work with assurance that he’s good at what he does. 

He’s gotten better at this, afterall. Would go so far as to say he’s been well trained. He finds ease in swallowing down his cock, following down to the base. Kamukura always seems to enjoy the feeling of it, stilling under his touch. Breathless, and quiet.

It’s easy now, to hold his breath for him. With his gaze on him, taking in everything he does with attentive intrigue. The first few times he'd fucked Kamukura, it had been in desperation for his favor. The man had simply watched on in disconnected curiosity as Servant had serviced him, unskilled but earnest. Servant still remembers the way Kamukura had looked at him; looked through him, really. Had barely flinched as Servant had worked him, still as stone under his fingers. It was impressive, looking back. How he’d managed to stay like that to the point of completion, not allowing even a hint of judgement to cross his face. There had been nothing in his gaze. No pleasure, no disgust. It had been empty, and distant. Like he was somewhere else entirely while Servant worked him. He hadn’t even been nothing to the man. He’d been nonexistent.

He thinks back to that. How, devastated he’d been. He’d wanted the man to notice him, had wanted to make him feel (Haha) as his mere presence made Servant feel. All Kamukura had needed to do was brush against him, to touch the small of his back, and he was little more than a ragdoll for the man to command. He would have accepted being close to dirt over being nothing.

He now knows it was simply a symptom of aberrant. That Kamukura been broken, and he was just _like that_. He’d just been attempting to figure him out, attempting to place Servant in a neat little box. To decide his intention, how much attention was truly worth diverting his way. 

It had been different, then. _She_ had still been around, able to whisper in his ear and guide his step. A literal devil on his shoulder. Kamukura might like to believe himself to be an outside force, but Servant isn’t stupid. They’ve all been... _Played with_ , and manipulated by her, and Kamukura was no different. 

For such a smart man, he could be quite dull sometimes. Not that Servant would ever think himself smarter than Kamukura. Never. But it had been obvious to him then, and it’s especially obvious to him now.

He’d never been able to convince Kamukura to take him away from her, exactly, and had learned quickly that he would sit and watch the abuse at her hands with just as much apathy as he did all her other cruelties. But that’s just how it had been. She’d gotten to him first, influenced him first. She’d won hope onto her side. Swayed hope to despair. Perhaps the entire reason he’d been allowed to approach Kamukura as often as he had been was her amusement at his failure, the despair he’d felt with each rejection and disregard.

He likes to think that these days, his actions are more convincing. Wonders if they’d been then how they are now, if things would have been different. Hindsight is 20/20, but he can’t help but wonder if Kamukura had known of her what he does now, if he would have put his foot down. Where his priorities would have lied. Would it have been better to be worshiped, or used?

Would it help that he knows Servants sincerity? The lengths he would go to groom himself for hope.

He likes to think so. He likes to think all he would have needed was time. 

And, well. He doesn’t gag on his cock anymore. He’s sure Kamukura is quite appreciative of that.

He must have distracted himself for too long, gotten too repetitive in his motions. He doesn’t realize how far he’s allowed himself to wander until Kamukura grabs him by the base of his lead. Does not guide, but yanks. It breaks Servant out of his thoughts, pulls him back down to earth. Servant knows the play, allows his body to fall lax under his coerce. He doesn’t need Kamukura’s scolding to know he’s underperformed, but Kamukura still supplements it with “You stalled.”

“Apologies, Kamukura-kun. You know better than anyone else how asinine I’ve become.” Has always been, really. He decidedly leaves that thought out. It’s for the better; No need to mention something that’s self-evident. 

“...” Kamukura lets out a sigh loud enough to be vocal. Barely there, but with intent. Servant isn’t sure why he wants him to hear it, because surely that’s the only reason he would. He doesn’t linger on it for too long. Simply draws a hand into his hair and makes a point to grip. It burns, of course. He deserves it, certainly doesn’t fight the pull of his head, “Don’t do it again.”

“A..Ah. Of course.” His hips grind gently to Kamukura's leg, back to finding greedy, unanimous pleasure in his worship. When he looks up, it's to search for any sign of disapproval. Servant knows when he misbehaves, knows what he should and shouldn't be doing. However, it will always be Kamukura's call that drives him. Should he decide, he’ll stop in an instant.

Kamukura must be feeling generous. Instead of scolding him again, the moment their gazes meet he grinds his leg up between Servants. He startles, unable to hide or muffle the wheezy moan that touches his lips at a result of his nerves. Kamukura could be so, so generous when he wants to be, allowing him to get his fill tonight. Kamukura could change his mind, of course. Servant would be grateful, honored even, to get off like this. He’s made a mess of himself servicing Kamukura like this, without the extra help.

He’s ready to go back to savoring this, to put more attention and focus into it, when Kamukura speaks up again. Has gone so far as to get his lips on him again. 

“Komaeda- Ah. Come here instead.”

Servant doesn’t move. It’s not that his aim is to disobey. He’s simply thrown off. Kamukura doesn’t tend to interrupt his service, let alone with such an obvious uncertainty to him. He has to be coaxed up by his leash, thumb steady against the base of his collar. A line of drool follows from his lips. It makes him feel messier then he already is, but is a far easier order to follow. Far easier to be guided, and eased up.

Despite having been the one to pull him up, Kamukura doesn’t speak immediately. The wait is not supposed to be mocking, not by any stretch of the means. Servant still can’t help as though he’s being pulled apart, investigated one piece at a time. Kamukura has gone inhumanly still against him. It would be near comical, were it not for the fact that it was happening now. Were his head not still swimming and skin not heated.

“I have decided,” Kamukura speaks easy, but the lull of comfort that comes with it is short lived, "I’m going to have you fuck me today."

"... Ah?" 

Servant feels despair, cold on his tongue, warm as iron, build immediately against his lips. Weighs him heavier then the chain of his collar. His rocking slows to a stall, dread replacing the quiet eagerness he’d so easily built up, "I've done something wrong?" He doesn't know what he did, of course. However, he wouldn’t be surprised if he had. He had... Stalled earlier. Had been taking too much pleasure in this. But generally speaking, those were things Kamukura dismissed. Things he’s gotten away with before.

"..." Kamukura's head tilts, something akin to curiosity in his look. "You have not?"

"Then why would you want...?" He doesn't believe him, tries not to let his smile fall from his face as a result. 

“I have grown bored of familiarities. Wish to try something different.”

And, that doesn’t sound entirely wrong. It would not be _unlike_ Kamukura to decide to switch out of nowhere. However, history has proven it to be far more calculated by request. 

The only time Kamukura changes their positions so _suddenly_ is when he messes up. When he’s done something wrong, and Kamukura is tired of his incompetence. The dynamics have always been easy. Roles so simple to follow. Getting fucked by Kamukura is a reward, fucking him is punishment. Because when he fucks him, he has to pay attention. He has to focus on what he’s doing. It _unnerves_ him to be in a position above Kamukura, and the implications only further his discomfort. Kamukura knows this. Uses it. And while he gladly takes delight in punishment, would be more than willing to take what is handed to him, he does not like not knowing what he’s done wrong.

He feels despair sink her nails into his spine and cut down, the call of despair tempting him in. It grabs at him like the echos of hands pulling at his arms and elbows. A welcoming, warm call in the face of unexpected failure and disappointment. 

"It’s simply a preference, Komaeda."

And then it’s gone.

What, "Huh?"

"Something I _desire_.” He sounds annoyed. Annoyed?

"Huh? Huh huh huh?" 

The despair uncoils in his chest, releases like a thread being pulled off a string. The thread is snipped, immediately replaced with a light, giddy surprise.

" _Huh_?" He repeats again, quieter. Kamukura's brows furrow, as though confused, and Servant can SEE the gears turning in his head.

"Is it… That hard to believe?" Kamukura asks, quietly. "That I have a preference?"

It is. Servant normally has to practically beg Kamukura for any kind of preference, direction, _desire_. Has requested time and time again if there was anything, anything at all he’d like. Kamukura only ever shoots him this look, low and blank, as if to remind him of who he was talking to. Kamukura didn’t have wants. He didn’t have preferences. He was above that, so much more than that. Hard to please, not because of unrealistic expectations set upon him to taunt and humiliate him, but because he lacked desire. 

If he’s pleased Kamukura, he’s earned it. Deserves his reward, whatever it may be. 

The same, of course, can be said for disappointing him. He tries not to think about it. How horribly he messes up when he truly, genuinely disappoints Kamukura. It is a weight that will never be lifted off his chest, shame that haunts and teases him. 

He doesn't answer Kamukura. Servant is smart enough to know that ‘Yes’ would be wrong, and Kamukura... Somehow, hasn’t already picked up on that confirmation. He’s still waiting for an answer from him. Servant knows he can’t lie, wouldn’t lie to Kamukura. He decidedly does not lie.

"And this would please you?" Servant has to check. Because Kamukura could be fooling him. Playing him like a fiddle in an attempt to get a reaction out of him.

Kamukura truly is patient with him. "Greatly.”

“...” Servant must not look entirely convincing. It doesn’t matter how good his poker face is, Kamukura has always been able to see right through it. 

“You still do not believe me?” Servant can’t lie to him. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, because he is. He should believe Kamukura without hesitation, shouldn’t trip over or question his words. If Kamukura says that this is a preference, then it should be noted as a preference. If Kamukura says he’s done nothing wrong, then he should _believe_ it. Should cling to the praise and shred any hint of uncertainty. Any hint of _suspicion_. 

He should know his place better.

Despite this, he can’t help but get pulled in by the doubt. Like a tide dragging away the thin layer that separates him and his insecurities, he ends up pulled and thrown by it. His hand grips Kamukura’s arm, desperate for security, and he needs to force it still otherwise it will shake. Kamukura doesn’t move him. His gaze flickers down to where their skin touches, where Servant is digging disgusting, unworthy fingers into his arm. He stares. Registers.

What a horrid servant he is, he thinks. 

“... I suppose history is nothing if not a powerful influencer,” Kamukura muses, brings his hand up to brush over Servants. 

“Do I seem angry?”

“Kamukura-kun is never angry!” Kamukura looks bemused by that. Servant changes his tune, “Kamukura is _rarely_ angry.”

Perhaps saying it so chipper was unwise. Kamukura tilts his head. 

“Do I seem.. Disappointed?”

“It is hard to tell sometimes. Your poker face is exceptional, and my inherent existence is a undeniable travisty! So if Kamukura-kun were to suddenly be disappointed in my performance, it wouldn’t be surprising.” 

That didn’t seem to be the correct thing to say either. Kamukura’s eyebrows furrow together, gaze flickering about as he attempts to search for a response. His entire body has stilled, the masquerade of calm easing in before the inevitable and all consuming calamity Servant’s bound to drag from him.

“Perhaps there has been a misconception,” Kamukura finally determines. He’s talking to himself. Servant knows this, because he still has this... Look in his eye. Distant, and unfocused. 

“A miscommunication?” Servant doesn’t interrupt him.

Kamukura shifts him to sit up straighter. He does so without hesitation, like a puppet on a string. 

“Perhaps. If the issue is history. Is our... Experience, I should change it? Add to it?”

“Ah?”

Kamukura considers it further. Like he’s not paying attention to Servant’s disbelief in the slightest. 

“If your perception of our relationship rests entirely in the idea of it being transactional, is it correct of me to play into it? Or to... change it.”

“ _Ah??_ ” 

Well. Kamukura has lost him, just as he comes back to himself.

“Is there anything you’d like from me?”

“Anything Kamukura gives me is, more than I deserve,” The phrase is robotic on his tongue, a well practiced hymn he’s sung time and time again. It’s automatic

Kamukura tilts, “Then there should be no issue in enjoying what I provide?”

Servant squirms. It sounds correct. Everything Kamukura says sounds correct. But there was a difference in receiving and requesting. In obtaining and seeking. Servant can’t help the discomfort that comes with that power, the slightest bit of responsibility.

“...” Kamukura tilts his head. “Komaeda,” he says, patiently, “ _if_ there is anything you want, you’re more than free to ask. You are aware of this, correct? I am... Giving you permission.”

Servant does not answer. Not because he can’t think of anything he’d like Kamukura to do for him. He might as well have an itemized list, something he’s filtered through in the back of his mind and dreamed of. It’s just that, Servant isn’t in a position where he feels like he deserves anything. Certainly not enough to request it directly. 

“Komaeda.” Kamukura is trying to sound stern, but it doesn’t send nearly the same chill as he’s used to down his spine. There's no power behind his name, no dominance under his tone. He just wants his attention. Kamukura doesn't need dominance to have Servant’s attention. What Kamukura wants, Kamukura gets without question. 

“What are you thinking.”

“Hand,” Servant finally says. “I want your hand.”

"... That is all?" Kamukura says, like he’s not already excessive in his request. It’s easier when Kamukura makes the calls for him, when he doesn’t have to _think_. He is... Unsure as to what he wants to avoid thinking about. Just thinking. Obeying is easier than requesting, serving is easier than demanding.

Besides. His hand was _safe_. An easy answer. He wouldn’t dare make Kamukura put his mouth on something as lowly as him, and he’s certainly not asking for only his fingers. 

Instead of saying all of that, however, he just nods. 

Kamukura lets out a breath of air, sounds almost disappointed by this, “I see,” He says, and slouches back

“Is that not sufficient enough?” He doesn’t think he has it in him to ask for more. Is already searching for some kind of desire he may be able to bring himself to admit in the moment. Kamukura saves him the trouble.

“No. It is plenty.”

It comes to no surprise to him when Kamukura rolls him over with ease. Servant doesn’t weigh a lot, afterall. He’s always been thin, but now more than ever. Kamukura never seemed to have any issues with lifting him for distances, let alone for a simple shift in position.

Kamukura makes quick work of peeling away his jeans, and Servant complies in shifting himself about to help get rid of the offending fabric. He balances against Kamukura with ease. Hides his face in the crook of the man’s neck, allows his good hand to grip near the roots of his hair. Not really pulling, so much as just grounding himself with the grip. 

He doesn’t need to do nearly as much work getting his boxers off. Kamukura manages them down to his knees for him, and Servant squirms out of them

He’s overwhelmed easily like this. Knows that Kamukura’s gaze and attention alone could send him over the edge, let alone when he places his full focus on him. 

He always has to wonder what Kamukura thinks when he sees what a mess Servant makes of himself. He knows it can’t be a pretty sight. He used to be disgusted by how shamelessly he managed to get off to Kamukura. Never enough to stop the man from taking his thoughts during some of his more shameful nights alone, but certainly enough that the humiliation of it stuck with him afterwards. He wonders, ever so briefly, if the man was aware of how often he’d been used like easy fetish material. How often Servant fixates on him, even when he’s alone.

He has to know. Afterall, Servant has never exactly been subtle, and Kamukura was practically all knowing.

But then Kamukura started looking at him like this. Leans back and looks him over. Like he’s admiring something precious, always seems so _enticed_ by him. Servant would never consider himself to be _alluring_. Even the other remnants don’t hesitate to remind him how off putting his presence is to a room. But Kamukura’s gaze seems to linger on him, like he’s memorizing every detail down to the bone. 

Kamukura notices his gaze. Eyes flicker to match his, then gaze back down to his cock. When he answers the unspoken question, it’s a mumble. Distant, and considerate, “It’s just fascinating, isn’t it?” 

“Fascinating,” Servant repeats.

“Fascinating,” Kamukura echoes, again. He allows the tips of his fingers to trace up the underside of his cock, starts at the base and teases to the tip. Kamukura might be able to take whatever he gets with the same stoicism he gives anything else, but Servant is not Kamukura. Servant’s fingers dig into the sheets and hips raise to follow the feeling of his hand. He has to force himself to keep his eyes open, because he doesn’t want to miss Kamukura for a moment. Doesn’t want to miss this, what he’s giving him.

Kamukura already knows what Servant prefers, has slept with him enough times to get more than just an approximation on his reactions. He’s apparently decided that in this moment, those details are now _boring_ , because what he’s doing certainly feels new. He pumps in heavy, experimental motions, earning needy whimpers and truly pathetic whines. 

Servant can’t complain. Then again, anything Kamukura could do to him was something he’d get off to. He’s always been quick to unravel for him. 

Servant isn’t going to be the one to tell him that. 

“I know exactly how you’re going to react to this, and yet I still wish to continue. To see your reactions. Why do you think that is, Komaeda?”

“I ah... I don’t know,” he admits, breath in a quiet whisper. He’s already beyond thinking about it. “I’ve told you. I don’t know why you keep me.”

“Hm.” Kamukura leans over him, touches their forehead together. Servant is like putty in Kamukura’s hands. He always seems to know how to move him how he likes, get him where he wants him. Wordlessly or on command. Normally it’s a point of pride, how well he’s able to follow Kamukura’s commands. Now it feels intimidating, and all consuming. He sinks down as Kamukura hovers over him, feels the way the man's hair touches his arms and encompasses him. Feels hypnotized by Kamukura’s gaze, especially as a free hand comes up to carefully touch his cheek. 

“Perhaps you’ve become a necessity? A desire?”

Kamukura allows Servant the time to roll his hips down into his fingers, rutting with stark desperation up against him. He can’t help the soft laugh that slips from his lips as he really, truly attempts to cling onto Kamukura’s words. It’s not always easy when he gets like this. Sometimes emotion takes precedent over expression, pleasure over intellect. It’s easy to get lost in the shift of the other’s hand, to forget to pay attention beyond the tone of his voice.

He’s beginning to think Kamukura prefers it like that. Kamukura has always been fair. Has only ever tested him to tasks he knows he can fulfill. He’s never scared by any task Kamukura gives him, never dissuaded by the imminent danger of any given duty. He trusts Kamukura like he trusts his luck. Knows what to expect from him. Knows how he’ll assess him.

Kamukura never orders him when he gets like this. Only observes. Servant has to wonder if it’s because Kamukura knows he’ll fail. Knows it’s not worth the effort.

Kamukura’s lips rest on his jaw. If it’s gross, if he’s bothered by the line of saliva that’s yet to dry or the tears inevitably running down his face, he gives no hint of it. He simply works down his jaw in a line, following down in a line. Paying close attention to the still sensitive bruising on his neck.

Squeaky, awful hiccups shake his entire body as he feels the creeping heat of release begin to sneak up on him. Kamukura has decided to take particular interest in the way his cock twitches under his hand.

“Certainly something fantastic, at the very least…”

“Kamukura-kun _please_ ,” Servant gasps. He’s far too out of it. It comes as a demand, like he has any right to an order. But he’s already started. The words are already slipping out of his mouth. 

“If you don’t, stop, I can’t. I can’t- Won’t be able to-” He chokes over his begging, brings his hand up to claw worthlessly at Kamukura’s shoulder. The dead hand presses to his chest, begging him to pull away. Not because he doesn’t want Kamukura’s touch, but because he hasn’t been given permission. Because he was so useless, so _abhorrent_ , so careless that he couldn’t even get Kamukura off before he got bored of him. Because he doesn’t deserve it, not here and not yet.

“Mm,” Kamukura gazes half lidded, “Your refractory period is impressive for someone that lacks as much stamina as you do. You will be fine.”

That is all the permission he needs.

Servant is so very glad for their distance from the others. He spasms, chokes over his wail when Kamukura works him fast enough to give him release. He breaks back to lucidity long enough to dig his hand into the knots in his hair, because if he grips onto Kamukura’s skin he’ll mar him. At least when he yanks, he can pretend he’s not damaging something perfect. Knows he won’t leave a mark like this. 

(It doesn’t matter if Kamukura heals fast enough to cover it up. Servant can’t imagine mutilating him like that.)

He thinks he might hear Kamukura gasp as his head is yanked back. He’s unsure. All he feels is the overwhelming, inescapable feeling of pleasure overtake him. Trembles and shakes under Kamukura’s hand and gaze. He’s taken by the heat, whole and breathless.

The warmth is quick to fade to chill, and the bliss to melancholy. Kamukura pulls back from lingering on top of him, and though his mind is still catching itself back up, he can make out Kamukura cleaning the mess Servant’s made of his hand with an almost tentative... lick?

Servant can’t help but feel horrified, but more so _hysteric_. He laughs, wheezy and breathless, and reaches over to tap his leg with the nails of his dead arm. 

“Kamukura-kun shouldn’t debase himself like that!” What he means is, _please don’t do that_. Not for him. But he won’t dare boss him around. Won’t dare command him like that.

Kamukura doesn’t bother him with an answer. 

Servant lays limp beside him, until the wave of immediate fatigue passes over, and he no longer feels like bursting into inexplicable laughter. It feels like an eternity, can’t be more than a minute or so. Kamukura humors himself as he always does, with silent curiosity and unspoken thought.

“You’re still hard,” Servant notes, drifts a hand over to touch him. Only, the hand he raises is hers, and Kamukura eyes it a tad critically. He thinks better of it. 

“It takes more than performance to get me off.” And of course he knows that in theory. But in practice, it still sits wrong with him. Still leaves him feeling guilty that Kamukura came out of that dissatisfied. Mostly, probably because- 

“This was not for me. That was.. the point.”

…

Servant cannot help the soft sigh of dissatisfaction that leaves him, and Kamukura does not call him on it. Despite the fact that his limbs still feel like lead, and his mind is still heavy with thoughtlessness, he pulls himself up and leans back into Kamukura’s grasp with ease. Kamukura has always been magnetic. Easy to guide himself into, easy to lay with.

“I still don’t understand the point.” It was becoming a little frustrating, if he was being entirely honest.

Kamukura stalls, moving to sneak his fingers under the layers of shirts Servant has on and effectively removes both in one easy go. It’s impressive as it is quick, as most things are with Kamukura. The chain pulls through the hole of his shirt like a whip, sending sharp goosebumps across his skin where it touches and lingers. 

“There is no point to allowing erroneous and offensive misconceptions linger between the two of us. Relationships are like the world. A careful balancing act that involves change and evolution. If one side overtakes the other, then it is a fate doomed for failure.”

His head is beginning to hurt. “Huh?”

Kamukura shakes his head, “It is unimportant, I suppose. The result I needed was obtained.”

Wasn’t that easier, he thinks? Trusting Kamukura’s word on it. Servant isn’t entirely sure if he agrees. But the idea of being above doesn’t seem as looming tonight, doesn’t rest horribly uneasy with him. He breathes easier.

He’s still a little sore from earlier. It’s not something he’s willing to say, but does blankly note when Kamukura’s hand finally drifts back down. It’s certainly not bad as it could be, the worst of the overstimulation having passed like a whisper. But he doesn’t find himself rocking entirely up into his hand. Instead, he’s fixating on the way Kamukura’s free hand lingers on the echoes of his rib cage. His finger follows along the base of it, as though he’s never investigated his body before. Like this is something new for him.

Kamukura’s hands dance carefully over the bruises on Servant’s sides, paying special attention to the larger, fading ones. Some of them fit his palm. Like he can slot his hands into place. Some of them are purposeful, marking, from times where Servant has begged Kamukura to deface and brand him. Kamukura knows nothing if not how to contort his bruising to an art, how to paint his skin in marvelous shades of blue and purple and avoid the distinct, muddy yellow he knows Servant particularly hates.

He likes to wonder at these when he’s been left alone, dance his fingers over them and traces their outline time and time again. Admires how pretty they are on his skin, marbling the ghost white of his skin to something _more_. Kamukura leaves him especially pretty ones when he’s about to wander, always comes back before they fade entirely, repeats the cycle. He wonders if at some point, he’ll wait long enough to return that Servant will heal entirely. A new canvas for him to decorate and adorn once more. 

Others are accidental. Kamukura doesn’t do a lot of things on accident, but. Well. He’s always bruised easily. Kamukura isn’t particularly gentle with him on the regular, because Servant needs him not to be.

And some aren’t from Kamukura at all. Now more than ever he finds his skin carrying his history. His knee’s hold scrapes and scabs that seem to stick, stained red with blood and purple with bruising. He can name which come from tripping over his own two feet, which have been given to him for (“Fucking up our plans,” Kuzuryu would say), which are self inflicted. He knows his own story, wears it with pride.

He wonders if there’s a scar under his collar yet. If it’s been worn into place, and he’ll be eternally marked.

He’d like that, he thinks. He can’t help but wonder if Kamukura would, as well. After all, he’s the one carrying the key to it.

“Kamukura-kun,” he says, because the investigation is beginning to get uncomfortable, and Kamukura still hasn’t been serviced. “May I prep you?”

“...”

Kamukura slides back onto the pillows for him without answering, legs spreading to either side of Servant’s waist as he does. It’s almost laughable how quickly that has him ready again. How Kamukura doesn’t need to say anything, only needs to look at him and grab his leash for arousal to spark back through him. 

This isn’t the first time he’s done this for Kamukura. Kamukura doesn’t exactly have a tendency to prepare himself. After all, when Kamukura wants to experience something, he wants it shown to him. Done to him. But there’s still something about the way he can feel his gaze that makes him feel the slightest bit on edge. 

Expectation sours him, he supposes. 

His experience does not help the slight shake of his hands as he raises his own fingers to his lips, gaze near hazy as he looks about Kamukura’s figure. Really, it’s an improvement to how it normally is. Because this isn’t a punishment. Kamukura wants this, honest and truly. 

They generally don’t usually use lube. Though Servant has particularly good luck in finding whatever toys he’d been ordered to scavenge for, lube tends to get overlooked. Saliva does the job just fine when Kamukura fucks him. Servant prefers it; Prefers the sharp burn that comes with how quickly saliva dries, enjoys feeling _Kamukura_ . All of him. The good and the bad of their actions, the pleasure and the pain, because it means that he’s getting _Kamukura_. 

He’s used to it by now.

Despite the fact that he’s currently lapping at his own fingers, he still feels hesitant to put Kamukura through that same burn. Scolds himself for being so careless, as to not even check for something at the pharmacy. He’s normally far more prepared than this. At the very least, has his luck to fall back on when it’s not something in the forefront of his mind.

Kamukura pulls his chain. He almost chokes on his own fingers.

Kamukura is normally far more patient with him. Gives him time to collect his barings, because they both know how horribly he’ll underperform if he does not. It’s near ritualistic in its simplicity.

But Kamukura seems almost restless, like this. His heel digs into the small of his back, hand lingers just against the edge of where _her’s_ ends. Servant is hyper aware of every little touch and look Kamukura is giving him, of the expectation currently being placed on his shoulders.

Kamukura wants. What Kamukura wants, he gets.

Kamukura tilts his head to gaze up at him, grip loose on his leash. 

“You will not hurt me,” Kamukura says, like it’s a suggestion. Because he stalls like this each time, because even while drugged out Kamukura can see the apprehension through his grin. Except, Servant is not entirely dumb. He knows a direct order when he’s given one, even when unspoken. It’s one of the few things he’s good for, the few things he needs to pay attention to.

He doesn’t make him wait. Pops his fingers out of his mouth and presses into Kamukura without another thought, and tries not to feel too exultant at the immediate and undeniable shutter that wracks through the man’s body. Just being able to feel a response like that is a reward in itself. Normally it takes far more

Servant likes to think his fingers are good for this. He doesn’t have the best control over his motions, doesn’t do well with finer, far more careful gestures Kamukura works him with. However, his fingers are slender, and he trusts his luck to help him find and set an appropriate rhythm. He’s been in Kamukura’s position enough to know what feels good, and has done this enough to know what sways Kamukura.

He knows when he’s hit the spot he’s looking for, because Kamukura’s breath hitches, and his fingers dig into the sheets like they’re a lifeline. The barest of sounds, smallest of groans, crawls it’s way out of Kamukura’s throat. It’s the only sign he needs to proceed with confidence, to start curling and rocking slicked fingers up with unadulterated force.

He’s never managed to make Kamukura writhe and wail out with the same force he does when placed in the same situation. He doesn’t think he ever will, and struggles to imagine it even in his guiltier, more self indulgent fantasies. It doesn’t stop that vivid fascination that comes with watching how loosely Kamukura acts under his touch here. Hyper aware of the way his toes curl, and gaze glazes.

Servant feels frustrated, despairing once more at the lack of function in his free hand. He wants to be able to work his cock while he preps him, give him _more_. Something other than just his fingers. But he’s tried that before, tried grinding the palm of her hand against his cock to give him some kind of simulation. He’d been… less than appreciative of the action. Servant knows better now, that the most he can get away with it is ghost well polished nails across Kamukura’s leg. He considers using his mouth, ducking himself down to take the head of his cock in. But a selfish, eager part of him wants to keep observing.

He wonders if this is how Kamukura normally feels. Not the eagerness, but the compulsion to observe and track. To memorize all the little reactions and responses he gets from their exploit. 

“Komaeda.” His voice is breathy. Servant soaks it in with pride. “I don’t need three fingers. Just-”

“Okay,” he says, _interrupts_ , wide eyed and hurried. “Okay, Okay. I can... Ah.”

Servant is only somewhat prepared to press inside of Kamukura, but it isn’t helped by the way Kamukura grabs his leash by the collar and forces him forward in a swift pull. He goes wide eyed, fingers curl, whimper sharp on his tongue. 

Apparently, not even Kamukura is prepared for him to be inside of him. Kamukura shifts for a moment to hide his eyes behind his arm, drawing in a long breath of air. 

“Ah,” he says, and it holds the same emotional impact as a battering ram. “Give me. A moment.”

Despite the fact that Kamukura isn’t looking, he still gives a rapid nod. It confuses him, to some degree. Normally, Kamukura has him move the moment he’s inside of him. Doesn’t wait to adjust, doesn’t give Servant time to think. It’s how he prefers it. Mindless, easy. 

“Kamukura?” He asks, not in fear he’ll flag, but because he doesn’t usually make him wait so long. “Are you.. okay?”

Kamukura finally moves his arm. 

His face is... redder than Servant expects. Burns bright against his skin, as if to match how heated he is. He’s just now noticing the way that strands of hair stick to his skin, how a fine layer of sweat shines on his skin. His eyes have a light gloss to them, like he’s close to tears. That wouldn’t be right. Rather, it wouldn't make sense. Servant has seen Kamukura take a blade and not blink. The way he works is inhumane, above pain and exhaustion, above fatigue and imperfection.

He’s not used to seeing Kamukura with such indecency. His breath catches when their eyes meet.

He’s wondrous. 

“I am considering something,” Kamukura says, rushes over his own words. “Do _not_ move yet.”

His tone isn’t hollow. It’s not even scolding, and certainly not angry. But it’s not empty. 

Servant’s good hand reaches up to move away the hair that sticks to Kamukura’s face. He remembers, quietly, that the last time he’d done anything close to this he’d been on his knees for him. It couldn't have been more than a month into despair, when the world was still at panic, and Kamukura above it all. 

He’d wanted to see past the curtain. Had wanted to watch for any sort of reaction as he’d worked him. He’d wanted more, to know him better than anyone else.

Kamukura hadn’t allowed it, then. Had grabbed his wrist and gripped until it had hurt, a silent but unquestionable punishment for stepping out of line. He’d worn the man’s handprint on his arm for days afterwards, seared into his skin like a branding.

He doesn’t do that now. He allows Servant to quietly sort the locks off to the side, to frame his face instead of obscure it. 

The stillness in the air breaks. Kamukura allows his fingers to glide down the chain of his leash. At first, the touch is feather light and easy, just enough to send a bite of anticipation down Servant’s spine. But then he curls it into his palm. Wraps it around his hand with a force he generally does not use on him. It sends a spike of heat flaring through him, and he can only imagine the stupefied look that crosses his face as a result.

"You asked me earlier, why I keep you around?" Kamukura takes pause, a hand coming up to brush the edges of his chin. Precise, and pointed. Disharmonious to the tug of his leash. Kamukura doesn’t need to force his gaze onto him. His fingertips may be mere suggestion, but Servant follows the cue like a well trained dog. He nods, enraptured. Servant is always drawn into Kamukura’s words, but now he's here. In Kamukura, the man holding out the answer to a question he’s begged and pleaded for an answer for years on end.

Kamukura gazes up to him.

"I said it was your loyalty. Your devotion. But truth is, I do not know why I keep you with me. For all intents and purposes, I should not _want_ . I should not _desire_ your companionship. But I.. you…" Kamukura stumbles over himself. Servant feels ice running through his blood, flowing invasively through his veins. If he lingers on it for too long, he thinks he’ll be frozen whole. 

“I don’t _know_ , Komaeda.” 

He says that like there’s some hidden meaning to it. Like he should be the one able to answer this mystery for him. 

"If it's your loyalty... Your obedience. Should I test it?"

Yes.

"Is there a limit to your worship?"

_No._

They both know the answer to that. Despite this, Kamukura’s eyes still flicker up to him like he’s the one waiting for permission. Like Servant has any amount of control over what the next words that come out of his mouth are going to be. Instead, Servant waits with eager, bated breath for an order to follow. A challenge to prove.

He thinks Kamukura’s eyes soften before they harden. It’s difficult to tell with how glossed over they are right now. 

“Don’t breathe,” Kamukura orders him.

They’ve... played this game before, more times then he can count on both his hands. As such, Servant’s body is well trained to latch itself down on an order, mid-breath, no breath. He’s almost confused as to why Kamukura picks this specifically. He likes to believe he’s well proven the lengths he’ll go on an order, especially one as easy as this. 

He’s passed out like this before. Breath trapped his lungs, with air just out of reach. Watching Kamukura’s curious gaze take him in entirely. He’ll do it again, if he must. As many times as Kamukura would like him to, if it means proving himself to the man.

He won’t complain about an easy task. But he knows there has to be something more. Some order he’s yet to pick up on. 

"To Junko, I was a means to an end. To them, I'm barely a replacement. To both, I’m little more than a tool to be used. I suppose that’s acceptable. It was what I was created to be. But to you… It’s different, isn’t it? Your worship is sincere. Selfish, but honest.”

Kamukura does this, sometimes. Walks himself through something under his breath, like he expects an answer whispered into his ear as a response. It’s just, he’s never done it somewhere like this. Not when they’re together, in bed with one another. It’s only when he’s got a problem with multiple components, something plucking at his brain that he needs to visualize and map out.

And he’s doing it here. Right against his lips.

The air in his lungs is already beginning to feel dry. Barren. His fingers ghost against Kamukura’s thigh, twitching. The only thing he can do is nod along.

Don’t breathe, he thinks.

"I suppose the real question is, why do _you_ stay, Komaeda? You have other goals. I am not your main ambition. You are smart enough to know how hard I am to sway." Servant opens his mouth to argue, insist that it’s not about that, that there is no greater goal than serving _hope_. He realizes quickly that he cannot. Opens his mouth, then closes it when he realizes the air can’t leave him. Physically is not allowed it. He stays silent. Kamukura does not.

"Then again. I suppose our goals are... _adjacent._ That is what a partnership is at its core, is it not? Perhaps that’s why I keep you around. I suppose I would be.. Disappointed to see you go. It might be some form of sentimentality.”

Kamukura pulls his leash. Not to scold, but to command. Servant follows his order with unquestioned obedience and firm desperation. He wants to start off slow. Wants to think about what he’s doing, give Kamukura as much pleasure as someone like him can manage. Dominance isn’t rooted in his veins, isn’t something something he has ingrained in his actions. He doesn’t perform well without thinking on it, like this. But he can’t focus on both. Either needs to allow the entirety of his attention be swayed by Kamukura’s monologue, or his own incessant need for perfection in service.

Kamukura’s words always win out, in the end.

“Is it selfish of me, to indulge like this? Is it me, who is foolish for taking advantage of this? Or you, foolish for playing into it. Is it wrong of me to _use_ your adoration like this? Is this relationship something I should be _ashamed_ of? I am not. You find pleasure in this, don’t you? Find pleasure in... servitude. In obedience. You find more distress in independence than in compliance.”

Kamukura is speaking faster, words spilling out of his mouth with uncontrolled passion. Servant doesn’t know what to do. He knows, has always known, that Kamukura found interest in analyzing him. That Kamukura might as well know him better than he knows himself. But knowing and hearing are two different things. Being unable to speak, unable to do anything but stall.

“It is easier for you, is it not? Following orders. The consequences of your actions are not your own. In that regard, am I not being used? Are you not simply cowering behind the first person that will take you. You allowed Junko to do the same. And yet you are not wholly to blame. After all, I am just as guilty of playing into this charade. Perhaps I find pleasure in your unquestioned compliance? Perhaps... I….”

He feels trapped. Doesn’t know how to reply like this. His words have been taken from him, his only allowance being his actions and exhibition. He does the only thing he can. Spares a bit of an exhale to whine in protest, allows his hand to palm across Kamukura’s chest, nails grazing his skin. Not hard enough to break, not hard enough to wound. Never that. He couldn’t- wouldn’t. But to get his attention. To force. To persuade his attention to Servant. To draw his attention out of his thoughts.

He does not breathe.

Kamukura tilts his head back, stutters over a breath as he gazes up to the ceiling. 

“Should regret. I do not. I should. Shouldn’t I? I do not. I am not allowed to. Perfection holds no regrets. Any action I choose to take should be correct. My determination absolute.”

His words are starting not to make any sense. A sharp touch of disconnectivity, like someone took scissors in the wiring of his brain and cut about haphazardly. He’s not sure what it is. If it’s the topic Kamukura has decided to work through, if it’s the drugs running their course, if he’s light headed from the lack of air.

"And yet I still want. I still _wish._ I could feel regret, like how I feel touch. It should be so simple. A chain reaction of neurons and impulses, connecting and lighting together. And yet the happiness I feel right now is strictly artificial. Does that make it fake? Is artificial any less sincere, if in the end it still produces the same results. So long as it fulfills its purpose? What if it no longer has a purpose. After all, a high does little to affect my line of thought. Certainly not the degree that it should.”

Kamkura isn’t listening to him. Isn’t listening to his actions, isn’t even watching him work. He feels hollow. Feels like he did when he first started to service him. He feels ignored and forgotten. Is losing the battle for Kamukura’s attention. Only she’s dead, it’s just them. Just Kamukura and him.

He should be pleased. Should be overjoyed that Kamukura is taken and enraptured entirely by him. Instead, insignificance weights on him like a rock. Like the _useless_ air he has captured and holds dear. 

Once he lets it go, it will be gone forever.

Don’t breathe, he thinks again, and chokes back in over a whine. His nails dig harder, clawing at his hip and carving lines into flesh. Kamukura’s hips follow the pull of his disobedience, like a rag doll waiting for guidance. He ducks his head down to bite into his shoulder, once, twice, again.

Servant knows when he feels Kamukura tremble, that Kamukura’s allowing himself to be taken by feeling. He thrusts up to match his hips. It’s hard not to indulge, hard not to make this about himself. Not when Kamukura's shoulders rise and fall in heavy, even waves. Nor when his breathing stutters past his lips, and sweat coats his skin

Not when he's the root of his debauchery.

"Would you consider it attachment, Komaeda? Knowing it should be there, but having it just out of reach. Is that still- Still _resentment_ . _Knowing_ something should be there, wanting it, but knowing it was stolen from you. Is that..." Kamukura seems out of breath himself. Like he should be foolish enough to believe his speech genuinely took that out of him, “Is that anything? Or is that only knowing. Is that existing? If something is not there can it. Exist.”

Servant doesn’t have an answer for him. He’s trying desperately to _hold his breath_. His vision breaks, fogging and blurring in a hazy, disconnected black. His head feels light, feels a desperate spasm wrack through his body. A desperate, pleading attempt to get air, locked in by the firm control he has on his form. His hips rock with a lack of control, all hazardous passion and mindless desperation. 

His hand ghosts over Kamukura’s, not to grip, but to warn. If Kamukura so wants, he will pass out for him. It’s cathartic. It’s easy. He’s given himself over to Kamukura entirely and wants to leave the line there. Wants to die for him, knowing he went out being something of value.

Something clouds over Kamukura’s gaze. Servant is too far gone in delirium to know what it is, but far too aware of every single one of Kamukura’s actions to miss it, "... It would be easier, if it was just loyalty," He mumbles, “Would be.. explainable. I would know. But I don’t know Komaeda. I don’t know why I keep you. Is that the answer you wanted? Is that. Sufficient?” A hand draws into his hair. Doesn’t pull him away, doesn’t push him. Instead, fingers rest on his scalp, brush through the knots and disgusting, horrid strands with something he can pretend is affection. 

So he rips into the feeling. Pretends. Forces himself to believe that Kamukura could truly feel anything close to love for him.

His eyes are beginning to blur. The hues of blue and black mix together, vision spotty and faded.

"I.. I am… never going to feel this strongly again,” He eventually says, and finally grips at his hair. It burns. His fingers knot in against the roots, pull his head back and force him to look up. He must have some kind of debased look on his face, because Kamukura spends only a second studying him before he falters. Servant knows that he should perform better. Take anything Kamukura gives him with a smile. But right now it’s too much, there’s too much. Servant can’t lie for him, and Kamukura can’t expect him to, and the agreement is unspoken and cruel.

"... What am I doing?" Kamukura crumbles under the weight of his own order, sucks in a breath sharp enough to jolt. "There is no. No _point_ . No need to- _test_ . _Breathe_ , Komaeda."

Servant wants to fight him on that. To assure him that there’s always a point to testing his faith, his commitment, his steadfast. He only thing he’s good for is his duty, and he wants any chance he has to prove his worth. He’s useful, he’ll always be useful to him, will always work to earn the love and adoration he entraps so frequently. 

Instead, he uses the last of his heavy, old breath to wail. His sounds are so ugly, disgusting, appalling. But Kamukura manages to drag them out of him, not even on a coax. His entire body is shaking, and when he finally manages to suck in a breath it scrapes in his chest and comes in on a wheeze. It burns, how quickly, how desperately he works to survive. 

Sometimes he wishes Kamukura would finally just rip into his skin and force him to break entirely.

“Ka-mu- _kura_ -” He gets out, not unaware but distinctly uncaring of how it breaks apart. 

Kamukura's arms wrap around his shoulders, tight. Forces him to collapse on top of him. If he didn't know any better, he'd say the man was hiding his face, can’t lie about how closely Kamukura holds him. Clings to him like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. Kamukura’s face digs into his shoulder, presses into the side of his head, and the only thing he hears is;

" _Fuck_ me." 

It's not an order. It's desperation, sharp enough on his tongue to cut, to bleed him out and break him.

He doesn’t register much after that. He knows he’s rocking into him with force he’s never used on Kamukura before. Knows he doesn’t last long. Feels his chain get pulled, and feels the way Kamukura’s hand swings around to slam into the drywall. He might have just left a hole in it, shredded lines in with his nails. 

He thinks, just maybe, that he hears Kamukura utter, “ _Mine_ ,” against his shoulder. The tone is possessive, and broken. Kamukura doesn’t ask, only claims, only insists, and it’s enough to shatter him. To pull a desperate, needy sob from his chest. 

He’s Kamukura’s. He’s _Izuru’_ s. He’s overwhelmed by pleasure, by heartache. He’s scrambling to find stability in a wave of emotion that’s already taken him, the strongest he’s allowed himself to feel in years. He wonders if this is what Kamukura feels like. If this is the distress he’s felt, feeling so little and gaining so much. 

It’s freeing.

“... Komaeda?”

Kamukura’s breathing is easy to focus on. To bring him back in.

He’s unsure if he passed out, or was simply overwhelmed. It’s hard to tell at times. But, when he comes to focus, he is laying on Kamukura’s chest.

There is no afterglow to soak in, no amount of contentment or satisfaction. His limbs feel heavy, head feels foggy, and sweat and cum stick to his skin in disgusting, smeared lines. He thinks he might be crying. 

He hasn’t cried in a very long time.

Kamukura has noticed the tears before he has, has taken to wiping them away in careful, methodical motions. The motion is awkward. His fingers feel too sharp against his cheek, too tense and robotic to feel anything close to natural.

It’s comforting, in an ironic way. Draws him in, and gives him something to focus on.

“Hm,” is all Kamukura breaths out.

It’s not despair he feels. Despair is comforting. Despair is the warmth you feel after being in a snowstorm for too long, the high of someone who’s not slept in 32 hours. It’s the last smile a killer gives before you die. Insincere pleasantry, easy to fall into, hard to crawl out of.

This is empty. It hurts. 

None of this should have happened tonight. He should have done better. He is unsure as to what he did, but he knows somewhere, somehow, tonight he has messed up.

He doesn’t pull himself up to face Kamukura. He simply allows himself to melt, like a candle that's been burning for one too many hours. 

“Did you... Before I...?”

Kamukura hesitates. _Hesitates_. It spikes already crawling and uncertain nerves. Kamukura’s certainty is a beacon of stability, and not having it to fall back on and cling to worsens the anxiety that needles itself in his chest.

He thinks, maybe, he’s shaking.

“I did,” Kamukura eventually answers. “You did wonderful, Komaeda. Thank you.”

Praise. Praise is good. Is great. He focuses on the praise, on the feeling of Kamukura’s fingers on his face, on the rise and fall of his chest. He did well. That meant it was okay. He could relax. He was okay.

It meant that it would be okay.

Servant finally lifts his head. It’s a fight, like there’s a hand holding him under water. A passing feeling that if he’s not careful, he’ll drown.

Kamukura's normally ethereal. Untouchable, divine beauty. The first time he’d laid a hand on him, he’d nearly cried with how overwhelmed he’d been by the near consuming _hope,_ had been left paryalzed and stunned. He devotes himself first and foremost to a man worthy of adornment and praise. Hope shines, has always shined through him, despite his fascination and attraction to despair.

But right now he's just... beautiful. Not holy. Not unearthly. He’s just a man, lovely and alluring, humane and tangible. 

It’s terrifying knowledge to obtain. Something only he’s allowed to see.

“Sorry,” Servant’s voice cracks despite barely being a whisper.

“.. You have no reason to apologize?”

He knows better to fight Kamukura on these things. But the guilt of ruining him is something that will rest with him until the day he dies.

Servant tucks his head under Kamukura’s chin, and ignores the way his heart stutters over itself with the motion.

The rain patters on the dirty glass. Lightning snakes itself out from the cracks in the sides of the makeshift curtain, getting only far enough to light the sides of the walls. Servant feels a hand in his hair, and it can’t possibly be for Kamukura’s benefit, so it has to be for his.

The normalcy, for what it may be these days, hurts. He’s been given a taste of something he will never again have, a mutt given prime meat for the first and last time by a passing and ignorant stranger. He can only wish for something so simple and fulfilling to last.

Despair would... His _luck_ would never allow for it..

“Kamukura-kun,” he whispers, when his hand has steadied itself and he breathes a little easier.

“Mm.” Kamukura sounds out of it. So close to sleeping, and Servant is interupting for his stupid, unworthy wonders. It’s not enough to dissuade him from continuing, exactly. Guilt has never been an effective motivator.

"I have a curiosity for you." He tests the waters, plays with the way his voice evens itself out. "One only you can answer."

"...Okay." Kamukura doesn't pull himself out of their careful, easy lull. 

“Do you think it’s good or bad luck,” he asks, staring up at the ceiling, “to be in love with who you serve.” Kamukura doesn’t answer him right away. His breathing doesn’t even still. 

“Do you think it’s hopeful, or _despairing_ , to be in love with someone who could never love you back?”

He doesn’t know what he expects from the question. It feels rhetorical on his lips. Something that doesn’t deserve a thought, let alone an answer. 

Kamukura is quiet.

Servant is fully prepared to simply roll over and call it a night, to be coaxed back into compliant silence, when Kamukura breaks the silence.

“Switch the questions,” Kamukura mumbles, into his hair.

“Huh?”

“Is falling in love with someone who you think cannot return it good luck, or bad luck?” He starts. Stops. Shifts to make himself a little more comfortable.

“Is it truly hope, or despair. To serve the one you love with such fervent and unquestionable care.”

“Ah-hah. It’s the same thing, in the end. Is it not?”

“Hm.” He’s making the sound again. That sound where he has something he wants to say, but a refusal to speak it. When he wants Servant to figure it out on his own. How... _annoying_. Serving Kamukura truly was a bother, sometimes. 

“If that’s how you choose to see it.”

Quietly, Servant takes the chance to carefully maneuver and pull the comforter over the two of them. Kamukura doesn’t move, and Servant doesn’t pull away.

He falls asleep warm and comfortable. In that moment, that’s all that matters.

\\\

  
  
  


The next day, Kamukura is back to normal. 

Sometimes Kamukura will wait for Servant to wake up. He must find some kind of amusement in watching over him. (“... Relaxing…” Was the only answer he’d gotten, when he’d asked.) 

Today is not one of those days. Servant wakes up alone in bed, trying not to think anything of the way both of the blankets have been placed neatly over him, nor how his clothing has been carefully laid out at the base of the bed, and certainly not in the fact that he’s been cleaned at some point between sleep and wake. 

He can’t stand the guilt that would linger at the idea of Kamukura doing that for him. Not when it should be his job.

If he found the position he woke up in odd, Kamukura does not mention it. Servant is nothing short of grateful for the man’s predominantly silent nature, if only for this morning. Instead, Kamukura sits at a desk in the corner, staring down at the grains in the wood with half lidded eyes like they’re telling him a story. Studying into the smallest detail, hands resting together in his lap.

Just staring. Just like normal. 

“Kamukura-kun?” He offers, tentative and sweet, “Good morning.”

Kamukura’s gaze flickers. Just for a second.

“Good morning, Komaeda.”

… Yeah. Just like normal.

Servant takes a moment to collect himself. Recall the night twice over, and stretch out like an almost content cat. The comforter has been taken down from the window, and the rain has stopped, allowing for sunlight to comfortably warm the room.

“Does Kamukura-kun still have a migraine?” he wonders, partially outloud, partially hoping for an actual answer. Kamukura takes the hint. 

“Mm. It is nothing I cannot work through.”

Servant is rightfully equal parts horrified and impressed. 

“Ah haha. Kamukura-kun’s immune system must be incredible. I get sick and I’m out for a week at a time!”

Kamukura tilts his head in his direction. “... You had cancer, Komaeda.”

He’s unfazed. “Yeah but I’m better _now_.” 

And it’s like it had never happened in the first place.

Kamukura’s gaze lingers on him, studying him like he’s one of the grains on the desk. Servant pays it no mind as he sorts through his hair, noticeably less knotted then it had been the night prior. It seemed Kamukura had been busy this morning. He wonders where he’d gotten the brush. If he’d even used one, or if he’d simply worked them out with his fingers. 

What a horrid thing to put himself through.

“You should drink,” Kamukura suggests, nodding over to the water from the night prior.

“I thought you were worried about me getting sick?” He grins, cheeky.

“I am,” Kamukura admits this far too loosely but does not keep him lingering on it. “Illness is an inevitability, considering last night.”

Servant immediately reaches over to grab the water to drink that, instead of talking about this. Kamukura watches with narrowed eyes, exceptionally cold this morning. 

“Komaeda, we did do something last night, correct?”

“Ah. Well...” Servant begins, squirming. He doesn’t need to finish that, because Kamukura is a wonder, and really that answer had to be more confirmation then anything else he’d said this morning.

“I see. I do not mind...” Kamukura says, and the pause near the end of his words is all but consuming. “... However, it is unlike you to fuck so possessively.”

Kamukura may as well just have stabbed him with that line. He chokes over the water, grips the bottle hard enough that it cracks under his hand. 

“Kamukura-kun!” he squeaks, feels his eyes widen. Kamukura’s expression is blank. 

“I am wrong?” As if to prove his point, he raises a hand to the bruises that ring around his neck, which have already faded to ugly yellow and blue shades. His fingers linger on it, like he’s impressed by the fact that it exists.

He is not wrong. He never is. Servant does not speak, so Kamukura decidedly continues the one-sided conversation with, “They will heal by tonight. I’m simply curious as to why.”

Servant smiles, and it hides nerves. “You can’t figure it out on your own?”

“I have lost about 14 hours of time, Komaeda. I am not omnipotent, despite what you and the remnants seem to think.”

There’s no good answer. Many that Kamukura would be fine with, but none that Servant can actively spill off his lips. He squirms, rubs his cheeks past the smile to get rid of the blaze.

“I just, wanted you to be surprised in the morning. Give you something you wouldn’t expect!” The lie is weak, but he manages it out with such easy, airy confidence. Kamukura knows he’s lying. There is no way Kamukura doesn’t know he is lying, and that scares him. Kamukura does not, however, call him on it. Instead, he just looks at Servant with something he can almost mistake as wonder, and mutters a careful “I see…” and drops it for him.

Kamukura will figure it out eventually. He always does. Until then, Servant allows himself to tame the harsh panic that scatters about his chest. Draws his legs up to his chest and hugs them there.

“It would be nice,” Kamukura adds on, “To experience that sober,”

“Is that… an _order_?” Servant asks. He hopes it comes off as playful. It might just be somewhat desperate. 

“... We shall see,” The look on Kamukura’s face is almost a smile. Just the slightest, barest twitch of the lip. As such, Servant has already succeeded in his duties today. 

“Get dressed,” Kamukura orders, and at last stands to join him. “We have work.”

Servant grins, bright and devout. When he grabs his clothes, they’re still a little damp. Still a little uncomfortable. But they will dry quickly, in the sun.

Like hope healing from despair, evaporating away the pestilence and rot of the past.

And Servant knows. He knows that one day, he will give Kamukura a show brighter and more unpredictable than any he’d seen before. One not even Enoshima herself could prepare. He would show him that chaos could be found even in the trenches of an unstable light, steady and bitter in the drifting waters of monotony. He would show him true, unfiltered happiness. That at the end all this, hope would shine brighter than ever. Rooted and fertilized by the ugly, festering ashes of despair. 

It was his job as his Servant, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed my shit, I'm @mystxmomo pretty much anywhere. I'm most active on tumblr, but I'm getting there with twitter. Please come talk to me about KamuKoma I'm gay and like throwing ideas around.
> 
> Thank you for reading, aa.


End file.
